UC-NRLF 


113    DEB 


ADELAIDE  NEILSON 

ft 


A  SOUVENIR 


BY 


LAURA  C.  ^iOLLOWAY 


ILLUSTRATED 


FUNK  &  WAGISTALLS  : 

NEW  YORK,  1885.  LONDON, 

10  AND  12  DEY  STKEET.  44  FLEET  STREET. 

All  Rights  Reserved. 


/ 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1885,  by 

LATJEA  C.  HOLLO  WAT, 
in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Conprpss,  Washington,  D.  C. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


1.  MissNsiLSONiN  -      STREET  DRESS 

2.  "          "AS  -                -    JULIET 

3.  «         "         "  -      PAULINE 

4.  "         "        <•'  -                -    JULIET 

5.  "         "         *«  -  CYMBELINE 

6.  "         «<        f<  -               -      VIOLA 
7e      "          "         "  -                 JULIET 

8.  «<          "         "  -                -    JULIET 

9.  GROVE  IN  BROMPTON  CEMETERY. 


ADELAIDE   NEILSON. 


"  A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever." 

^  OHE  wur  a  bonny  lass,  she  wur,  and  niver 
H^  quite  like  other  lasses,"  said  an  old 
acquaintance  who  knew  Adelaide  Neilson  in 
her  early  years  in  Yorkshire. 

To  picture  her  aright;  to  describe  in  what  re- 
spects she  differed  from,  and  in  what  she  was 
allied  to  her  kind:  to  show  the  extent  and  the 
limit  of  hereditary  and  extraneous  influences; 
and  to  reveal  the  degree  to  which  she  possessed 
the  power  of  recuperation,  which  to  us  seems 
the  best  definition  of  genius,  is  the  labor  of  love 
attempted. 

Since  we  cannot  account  for  certain  excep- 
tional talents  that  she  possessed,  except  under 
the  law  of  spontaneity,  so  likewise  we  must 
introduce  the  highest  law  of  life — the  spiritual, 
— to  interpret  some  of  the  most  beautiful  mani- 
festations of  her  genius.  And  we  cannot  make 
any  judgment  of  it  that  does  not  include 


6 

all  the  contradictions  of  her  nature.  She  was 
a  many-sided  personality  ;  one  difficult  of  an- 
alysis. Yet  the  chiefest  difficulty  lies  not 
so  much  in  realizing  this  as  in  interpreting 
conclusions  to  the  world  which  knew  her 
wholly  through  her  characterization  of  im- 
aginary beings.  Stripped  of  the  romance  of 
the  stage  and  the  glamour  thrown  over  one 
who  reaches  such  dramatic  eminence,  it 
is  pleasing  to  find  her  a  very  lovable  and 
loving  woman,  one  whose  powers  of  fascina- 
tion charmed  and  delighted  all  who  came 
within  her  sphere.  That  she  was  not  all 
she  might  have  been  endears  her  the  more 
to  generous  minds,  since  we  know  that  hers 
was  an  uncommonly  hard  lot  in  some  vital 
particulars,  and  that  she  made  her  way  through 
difficulties  and  under  shadows  which  some- 
times engulfed  her,  causing  her  to  lose  her  way 
and  sorely  bruising  herself,  but  never  embitter- 
ing her  nature  or  shadowing  the  light  that 
was  within  her  and  that  shone  forth  brightest 
when  the  darkness  without  appeared  akin  to 
despair. 
The  woman  who  to  the  public  seemed 

"  A  lovely  apparition  sent 
To  be  a  moment's  ornament," 

was  one  by  nature  sweet  and  reverent;  strong 
and    earnest  of   soul;  loving,   and  forgiving. 


Said  one  who  loved  her  well,  "When  we  know 
all  that  she  forgave,  then  we  shall  know  the 
measure  of  her  great  heart." 

The  personality  of  Miss  Neilson  was  so 
charming  •  the  spell  of  her  fascination  was  so 
enthraling,  that  it  was  not  a  matter  of  surprise 
that  all  sorts  of  extravagant  stories  regarding 
her  antecedents  and  early  surroundings  were 
currently  reported  and  received.  It  seemed  the 
only  natural  solution  of  her  beauty  and  great 
talents  to  believe  that  she  was  the  offspring  of 
a  titled  family,  the  child  of  truly  great  parents. 
Any  theory  at  variance  with  preconceived  per- 
sonal notions  regarding  her  antecedents  was 
unsatisfactory;  so  that  people  came  to  think 
that  she  was  none  other  than  a  "  Maid  of 
Saragossa;"  a  child  of  a  race,  of  whose  best 
physical  type  she  seemed  so  glorious  a  repre- 
sentative. 

"  Her  eyes  were  stars  of  twilight  fair, 
Like  twilight,  too,  her  dusky  hair; 
A  dancing  shape,  an  image  gay, 
To  haunt,  to  startle,  and  waylay. 


And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright, 
"With  something  of  an  angel's  light." 

But  Adelaide  Neilson,  with  her  southern  face 
and  ardent  temperament,  her  sensuous  beauty 
and  tender  grace,  was  not  of  the  race  or  degree 
that  was  accredited  to  her,  and  in  correcting 


8 

this  misjudgment  it  is  well  to  correct  also  the 
false  assumption  that  her  beauty  of  person  com- 
prised her  principal  claim  to  admiration.  Such 
a  conclusion  is  both  flippant  and  superficial. 
Her  charm  was  spiritual,  and  it  vivified  her 
mind  to  that  degree  that  the  personality  ex- 
pressed it  in  outward  signs  and  forms.  Con- 
ventional standards  of  beauty  were  set  aside  in 
her  case;  it  was  the  inexpressible  quality  that 
individualized  her  loveliness,  and  this  quality 
is  of  the  spirit.  Miss  Neilson,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, was  never  a  subject  of  ordinary  admira- 
tion, she  was  really,  sincerely  loved.  There 
was  a  something  pervading  her  presence  that 
created  a  glow  in  even  cold  hearts,  and  she  was 
never  seen  with  indifference.  We  have  said 
that  public  opinion  voted  Miss  Neilson  a  Span- 
iard, and  her  admirers  strengthened  the  belief 
that  she  was  a  Southerner.  Miss  Neilson  her- 
self lent  color,  to  this  conviction  by  her  silence 
on  the  subject. 

After  her  death  the  most  fulsome  of  her  bio- 
graphers made  her  birthplace  Saragossa,  and 
her  surroundings  in  childhood  such  as  would 
seem  most  fitting  to  one  of  her  temperament. 
And  there  lies  before  us  a  narrative,  stating 
that  her  parents  "educated  her  in  the  best 
schools  of  Italy  and  France,  and  prepared 
her  for  her  brilliant  career  by  every  advantage 


that  wealth  and  opportunity  could  supply. " 
Had  such  been  the  case  Adelaide  Neilson  would 
never  have  possessed  the  interest  to  us  that  she 
does,  or  had  the  irresistible  charm  that  made 
her  so  beloved.  Social  helps  and  hindrances 
counted  for  little  in  her  case,  for  they  were 
minor  factors  in  it.  In  studying  her  life,  one 
is  strangely  impelled  to  look  beyond  ordinary 
motives  and  circumstances;  to  form  conclusions 
not  reached  by  those  who  attribute  organiza- 
tion to  surroundings  and  great  gifts  to  forces 
well  understood. 

"  Who  was  she?  and  What  was  her  heritage?" 
are  questions  asked  by  every  one  who  saw  her 
and  felt  the  magnetic  power  she  exerted. 

Her  history  is  in  a  sense  an  epitome  of 
human  existence,  inasmuch  as  her  nature  was 
so  full  and  rich  that  it  touched  in  its  varied 
and  manifold  phases  all  life's  correspon- 
dencies. Its  very  inconsistencies  made  it 
richer. 

The  essential  facts  of  her  career  are  easy  to 
relate,  even  if  certain  desirable  details  are  lack- 
ing. The  parentage  of  Adelaide  Neilson  on 
the  father's  side  is  doubtful.  Of  her  mother 
much  is  known,  though  not  of  that  mother's 
early  life.  For  reasons  of  her  own,  Mrs. 
Bland  has  been  reticent  concerning  this  period, 
and  the  circumstances  of  her  daughter's  birth 


10 

she  has  jealously  guarded,  probably  because 
of  the  pain  of  exposure  to  the  latter.  Miss 
Neilson,  in  speaking  of  this  fact  concerning 
herself,  to  one  or  two  intimate  friends  of  later 
years,  expressed  deepest  regret  for  it,  yet  never 
was  heard  to  reflect  by  tone  or  word  upon  her 
mother  for  her  misfortune.  That  she  sorely 
grieved  over  it  all  her  life  her  mother  knew,  and 
the  indefinable  shadow  that  was  often  upon 
her  face,  was  reflected  there  by  this  living 
sorrow.  This  expression  was  often  noted, 
but  was  not  understood  until  the  mother 
told  the  story  of  her  daughter's  discovery  of 
the  facts  of  her  birth  and  the  effect  it  had  upon 
her. 

The  first  authentic  knowledge  we  have  of 
Miss  Neilson  dates  back  to  the  close  of  her 
second  year.  At  that  time  she  was  living  at 
Skipton-in-Craven,  England,  with  her  mother, 
who  was  Miss  Browne,  and  who  was,  previous 
to  her  daughter's  birth,  and  for  some  months 
subsequent  to  it,  an  actress.  Of  Miss  Browne's 
histrionic  ability  no  account  has  come  to  us.  She 
traveled  with  a  stock  company  over  what  was 
known  as  the  Northern  Circuit,  at  a  time  when 
railroads  and  telegraphs  were  not,  and  the 
public  to  whose  pleasure  she  catered  did  not 
interest  itself,  as  now,  in  actors  when  off  the 
stage.  The  young  woman  doubtless  had  her 


11 

triumphs  and  enjoyed  the  reward  of  her  efforts 
in  the  profession  she  followed.  Miss  Browne's 
father  was  an  English  engraver,  and  is  repre- 
sented by  his  daughter  as  having  been  a  work- 
man proud  of  his  art.  Both  her  father  and  her 
mother  were  Yorkshire  people.  She  became 
enamored  of  the  stage  and  left  her  home  while 
quite  young  to  seek  her  fortune  upon  it,  and 
was  a  girl  in  her  teens  when  Adelaide  was  born. 
Her  marriage  to  Mr.  Bland  took  place  subse- 
quently. The  father  of  Adelaide  Neilson  was 
an  actor  who  was  attached  to  a  company  in 
Leeds  when  he  first  met  Miss  Browne.  It  is 
conjectured  that  Adelaide  was  born  there,  but 
Mrs.  Bland,  when  asked  regarding  this  point, 
sternly  refused  to  divulge  the  place  or  cir- 
cumstance of  her  birth.  She,  however,  was 
born  in  Yorkshire,  and  at  or  near  Leeds.  Mrs. 
Bland  is  authority  for  the  statement  that  Ade- 
laide's father  was  a  Spaniard  and  that  the  per- 
sonal beauty  of  her  daughter  was  her  inherit- 
ance from  the  father  whom  she  never  knew. 

Mr.  Bland,  whose  occupation  was  that  of  a 
painter  and  paper-hanger,  wras  a  native  of  the 
neighborhood  of  Burnsall  in  Upper  Wharf  dale, 
where  he  has  a  brother  now  living.  The  home  of 
the  Blands  immediately  succeeding  their  union 
was  at  Skipton-in-Craven.  A  relative  of  his 
family  gives  the  information  that  they  lived  in 


12 

that  village  two  years,  from  1848  to  1850,  and 
that  when  they  left  there,  "  Lizzie  Ann,"  which 
was  the  only  name  of  our  heroine  until  she 
bought  and  paid  for  the  one  which,  with  one  or 
two  modifications,  she  afterwards  came  to  be 
known  by  to  the  world,  was  four  years  old. 
In  her  fifth  year  she  went  with  her  parents  to 
Guiseley,  where  the  family  established  them- 
selves in  a  part  of  the  village  known  as  Green 
Bottom,  a  locality  entirely  changed  of  late 
years  by  the  railroad  which  now  runs  through 
that  part  of  the  town.  Their  advent  into  Guise- 
ley  seems  not  to  have  created  any  uncommon 
interest  among  the  villagers,  who  do  not  appear 
to  have  concerned  themselves  regarding  the 
past  history  of  the  couple.  They  settled  down 
to  their  humble  style  of  living,  and  Mrs.  Bland 
in  addition  to  her  household  cares  added  to  the 
family  income  by  going  out  by  the  day  as  a 
seamstress.  She  was  evidently  a  woman  of  far 
more  ability  and  energy  of  character  than  her 
husband,  and  her  married  life  was  full  of  toil 
and  care.  Her  children  came  rapidly  until 
twelve  were  born,  and  still  she  worked  with  her 
needle  to  add  to  the  comforts  of  life  for  her 
family. 

No  region  of  England  is  richer  in  historic  in- 
terest than  Yorkshire.     No  section  rivals  it  in 


13 

natural  beauty.  The  antiquarian  loves  it  and 
finds  in  its  .ancient  chapels,  its  remains  of  Dru- 
id's altars;  its  mountains,  fortifications  and 
Roman  roadways;  its  quaint  stone  houses,  suc- 
cessors to  the  castles  and  abbeys  that  once 
reared  their  stately  turrets,  a  field  of  unfailing 
wealth.  No  locality  has  produced  more  or  bet- 
ter local  chroniclers  than  favored  Yorkshire. 
Naturally,  it  has  many  attractions,  and  is  pic- 
turesquely beautiful  even  now,  when  almost 
every  hamlet  is  defiled  with  factory  smoke,  and 
the  dun-covered  moors  are  traversed  by  rail- 
roads. Over  the  moorlands  sounded  the  curfew 
from  church  belfries  coeval  with  Canterbury 
and  York;  and  through  its  grey  fields  have 
traveled  some  of  England's  most  renowned 
men  and  women — Yorkshire  children  born  and 
bred.  John  Wickliffe,  the  "  morning  star  of 
the  Reformation,"  was  born  in  the  North  Rid- 
ing of  Yorkshire,  and  Whitefield  and  Wesley 
came  to  teach  its  sturdy  sons  the  way  of  salva- 
tion through  Methodism.  Here,  too,  in  a 
moorland  village,  now  famous  for  all  time, 
lived  and  died  the  Bronte  sisters,  who  have 
given  to  the  Yorkshire  of  this  century  a  greater 
interest  than  its  rich  abbeys  or  its  antiquity 
made  for  it  in  the  past. 

The  manufacturers   long    ago    invaded   the 
Yorkshire  region   and  built  upon  its  hillsides 


14 

and  watercourses  their  huge,  ugly  structures  ; 
while  the  people  of  that  section  have  been 
brought  into  closer  relations  with  the  outside 
world,  by  reason  of  the  railroads  which  now 
traverse  the  entire  district.  All  the  inland 
villages  have  felt  the  impetus  of  commerce, 
and  the  distances  between  them  have  been  al- 
most annihilated  since  the  days  of  stage 
coaches.  Guiseley,  like  Haworth,  has  grown 
considerably  of  late  years,  and  in  fact  is  now 
too  much  of  a  place  to  be  called  a  village.  It 
has  not  only  a  busy  railroad  station,  but  a  town- 
hall  of  considerable  pretentious,  and  schools 
and  churches,  where  in  Adelaide  Neilson's 
childhood  it  had  only  a  school  and  a  church. 
The  old  style  of  living  has  changed  much  since 
the  days  when  hand-loom  weaving  was  prose- 
cuted at  the  fireside  of  the  good,  honest  work- 
ing people — a  sturdy,  independent  race,  and  has 
been  slowly  but  surely  supplanted  by  machin- 
ery, and  the  daily  incarceration  in  gloomy  fac- 
tories against  which  they  could  not  compete. 
To  glance  into  any  one  of  the  houses  of  the 
olden  time  was  to  see  the  loom,  like  a  four-post 
bedstead,  all  but  filling  up  the  room  in  which 
the  weavers  worked,  while  stretched  across  the 
ceiling  the  oatcake  was  strung  up  in  long 
rows,  and  the  bacon  flitch  hung  from  the  great 
hooks  in  the  beams.  Now  the  provisions  for 


15 

the  household  are  all  procured  from  some 
neighboring  shop,  with  a  running  account  to 
be  "squeezed  off,"  if  possible,  at  the  end  of 
the  week. 

Guiseley  people  long  ago  put  off  the  habits 
of  their  forefathers,  and  since  it  has  grown  to 
be  a  manufacturing  town  they  have  taken  on 
the  ways  of  other  places.  Hardly  would  they 
or  their  village  be  recognized  by  one  who  knew 
them  thirty  years  ago.  But  even  modernized  as 
it  is  by  its  increase  of  wealth  and  population,  no 
more  discordant  surroundings  could  have  been 
found,  apparently,  for  the  development  of  a 
nature  such  as  Adelaide  Neilson  possessed;  on 
the  other  hand,  perhaps,  no  better  condition 
for  the  full  display  of  pre-natal  influences 
could  have  been  devised.  At  least  it  is  true, 
that  in  the  case  of  no  one  have  such  influences 
been  more  potent  and  self-evident  than  in  hers. 
The  little  girl  who  shared  in  the  play  of  the 
children  of  Green  Bottom,  or  did  her  appointed 
tasks  as  a  "filler"  in  the  factory  near  by,  grew 
in  delicate  beauty  and  greater  promise  day  by 
day  beside  those  who  realized  her  unlikeness 
to  themselves,  yet  could  not  define  it.  She  was 
a  loving,  winsome  child,  generous  and  unself- 
ish in  her  home,  and  helpful  to  her  mother  in 
the  care  of  the  younger  children.  If  any  one 
understood  her  nature  in  those  days  it  was  her 


16 

mother,  but  she  does  not  appear  to  have  fully 
comprehended  her  daughter.  She,  however, 
knew  her  better  than  anyone  else,  and  noted 
with  secret  pleasure  the  fondness  for  learning 
that  the  child  exhibited,  and  the  bent  of  her 
mind  in  the  direction  of  dramatic  study.  Mrs. 
Bland  knew  that  her  daughter's  tastes  were 
directly  inherited  from  both  her  father  and  her- 
self, and  yet  she  seemed  never  to  fully  compre- 
hend the  inevitable  consequences  of  fostering 
her  natural  likings.  It  was  a  motherly  ex- 
pression of  her  pride  in  her  beautiful  daughter 
that  led  her  to  dress  her  better  than  she  did  her 
other  children  and  to  clothe  "her  in  daintier 
raiment  than  her  neighbors  approved.  And 
when  she  was  chided  for  it  she  "would  defend 
herself  by  saying  that  she  bought  the  clothing 
with  her  own  earnings,  and  made  it  with  her 
own  hands.  Her  course  in  overdressing  the 
child  brought  no  harm  to  one  who  could  not  be 
spoiled  by  dress,  as  it  was  not  her  chief  thought.^ 
She  had  an  unconquerable  desire  to  learn,  and 
so  long  as  she  could  go  to  school  she  was 
absorbed  in  her  studies,  and  in  her  crude 
but  strong  interpretations  of  character  parts. 
Whatever  she  read  she  made  her  own,  and  in- 
dividualized it  in  delivery,  to  the  delight  of 
her  fellow  students. 
'Among  the  possessions  of  Mrs.  Bland  which 


17 

were  associated  with  her  history  previous  to 
her  marriage,  were  a  number  of  plays,  some 
of  them  Shakespeare's,  which  were  early  in 
the  hands  of  her  daughter.  These  were  read 
and  re-read,  until  when  she  was  eight  years  old 
she  could  not  only  repeat  long  extracts  from 
them  but  intelligently  act  them.  She  would 
often  interrupt  her  mother  to  tell  her  how 
passages  should  be  recited,  and  would  con- 
tinue to  read  and  re-read  them  until  she  satis- 
fied her  own  ideal.  She  would  lie  in  bed  at  night 
reading  and  memorizing  until  the  light  would 
be  forcibly  put  out  by  her  mother,  and  when- 
ever she  could  not  be  found  in  the  daytime  the 
latter  would  seek  her  in  a  room  where  in  a 
bureau  drawer  were  kept  the  yellow-covered 
plays  that  she  did  not  permit  others  to  handle. 
There  the  young  girl  would  be  discovered,  either 
on  the  floor  bent  over  the  coveted  book,  or 
walking  the  room  conning  some  part  that  she 
wished  to  make  her  own.  Before  she  was 
twelve  years  old  she  knew  every  play  that 
she  had  ever  read,  and  could  recite  with  en- 
tire correctness  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare 
which  grown-up  people  find  it  difficult  to  learn. 
She  was  deft  with  her  needle,  and  improvised 
costumes  for  her  dolls  with  singular  aptitude; 
she,  however,  did  not  care  for  them  as  make- 
believe  babies,  but  as  a  sympathetic  audience 


18 

before  whom  she  could  act  and  declaim.  So 
long  as  she  was  in  the  mood  for  mimic  per- 
formances they  were  companionable,  but  when 
she  tired  of  playing  the  tragic  queen,  and 
threw  off  the  additional  drapery,  generally  her 
mother's  apron,  that  had  served  as  a  train  to 
her  short  frock,  she  left  the  dolls  to  silence  and 
neglect  until  the  mood  returned.  Always  her 
impersonations  were  tragic;  when  she  was  four 
years  old  she  was  inventing  and  acting  char- 
acters, and  at  five  she  had  realized  her  con- 
ception of  a  ghost.  In  great  excitement  she 
hastened  to  her  mother  and  tried  to  have  her 
see  her  interpret  it,  but  the  latter  refused 
and  compelled  her  to  desist  from  the  attempt. 
Her  habit  of  memorizing,  which  was  perfectly 
natural  and  easy,  made  her  a  favorite  pupil  at 
school,  where  her  talent  was  often  called  into 
requisition  on  anniversary  occasions,  or  when 
company  was  to  be  entertained.  She  was 
studious,  but  it  was  clearly  evident  to  her 
teacher  that  her  taste  was  decidedly  literary, 
and  her  bent  was  unmistakably  dramatic. 
Unfortunately  she  could  not  give  as  much 
time  to  her  favorite  pursuits  as  she  wished; 
it  would  have  delighted  her  to  do  nothing  else, 
but  she  was  the  eldest  girl  in  a  family  where 
daily  labor  had  to  be  performed,  and  she  did 
not  shirk  her  portion  of  it.  She  helped  her 


19 

mother  with  the  household  work,  and  went 
out  with  her  step-father  to  assist  him  in  his 
business  of  paper  hanging1.  Not  a  few  rooms 
in  Guiseley  houses  were  papered  by  Mr.  Bland 
with  her  help,  and  families  are  known  there 
now  who  will  not  remove  the  paper  that 
is  associated  with  her,  though  it  is  faded  and 
long  out  of  fashion. 

But  no  amount  of  work  could  quench  her 
thirst  for  reading,  and  it  is  related  "by  a  shop- 
keeper of  Guiseley  that  she  would  come  to  his 
store  to  get  family  supplies,  and  forget  every- 
thing else  in  her  interest  in  reading  the  signs 
and  announcements  in  the  place.  When  good- 
naturedly  chided  for  not  hastening  home  she 
would  smilingly  hurry  away  to  her  waiting 
mother,  and  repeat  the  same  thing  on  every 
occasion.  There  was  at  this  time,  and  for  sev- 
eral years  later,  no  outward  sign  of  distaste  for 
her  surroundings,  and  perhaps  no  inner  thought 
of  rebellion  against  the  fate  that  was  hers. 
She  was  young,  and  was  as  happy  as  chil- 
dren are  who  are  as  affectionate  and  docile 
as  was  this  little  Yorkshire  girl.  The  story 
of  her  childhood  has  been  painted  in  cheer- 
less colors  by  those  to  whom  it  doubtless  ap- 
peared depressingly  so,  as  compared  with 
the  era  of  opulence  and  fame  that  came  to 
her.  The  chill  of  contrast  is  always  severely 


20 

felt  by  those  who  judge  exclusively  by  ex- 
ternals. 

Her  rare  possession  was  an  imagination,  rich 
and  fervid,  and  this  was  a  compensation  for 
many  of  the  trials  she  endured,  absorbing  her 
so  completely  as  to  make  her  oftentimes  obliv- 
ious of  disagreeable  circumstances  that  would 
have  grated  harshly  upon  her  nerves.  To  an 
unimaginative  person  hers  doubtless  seems 
a  bitter  lot ;  but  in  her  this  faculty  was  so 
highly  developed  that  she  lived  a  life  of.  her 
own,  and  reveled  in  scenes  unreal  and  un- 
dreamed of  by  others.  It  may  appear*  absurd 
to  say  that  the  very  circumstances  of  her  life 
served  as  an  impelling  force  in  awakening  the 
intellectual  tendencies  of  her  nature.  But, 
driven  back  upon  herself,  the  child  found  hap_ 
piness  in  her  own  way,  and  this  was  in  study. 

She  never  had  the  opportunity,  as  a  child,  of 
seeing  a  first-class  performance,  but  the  trav- 
eling shows  that  came  to  Guiseley  and  the 
neighboring  village  of  Gibbs  had  frequent  pa- 
trons in  Mrs.  Bland  and  her  daughter;  and  the 
latter  went  home  from  each  one  fired  with 
new  zeal  and  determination  to  be  an  actress. 
Few  persons  ever  gave  more  unmistakable  evi- 
dence of  inherited  taste  than  did  this  young  girl 
for  the  stage.  Her  mother  was  secretly  pleased 
with  the  predilection  her  daughter  manifested, 


21 

and  did  nothing  to  oppose  her  inclinations,  if 
she  did  nothing  to  foster  and  develop  her 
natural  ability. 

In  her  childhood  there  was  no  national  school 
at  Guiseley,  and  the  little  Lizzie  attended  the 
parochial  school  presided  over  by  Mr.  Frizell, 
who  still  resides  there.  Mr.  Frizell  perfectly 
remembers  her  as  a  quiet,  attentive  and  studious 
child;  one  possessed  of  a  wonderful  memory 
and  extraordinary  talent  for  reciting.  At  the 
Primitive  Methodist  Church,  where  she  was  for 
years  a  regular  attendant,  she  was  especially 
remarkable  for  her  quiet  ways  and  gentle  man- 
ners. Middle-aged  women  in  Guiseley,  who 
were  her  classmates  in  both  schools  there,  re- 
call her  as  the  most  studious  among  them,  and 
always  ready  to  read  or  recite,  without  the  hes- 
itation that  they  felt  in  appearing  before 
strangers.  An  old  lady,  whose  daughter  was 
at  school  with  her  and  worked  beside  her  in  the 
factory  the  short  time  that  she  was  there,  in- 
dignantly denied  the  report  brought  back  to 
Guiseley,  that  a  neighbor  had  seen  Lizzie  Ann 
play  in  Leeds. 

'•Lizzie  a  player!"  she  exclaimed;  "Never. 
She  wur  naught  but  a  book-learner."  And  it 
took  some  time  to  convince  her  that  such  was 
the  case,  and  that  her  mother,  Mrs.  Bland,  had 
been  there  and  seen  her  for  herself. 


22 

The  necessity  that  compelled  the  future  act- 
ress to  go  to  work  in  the  factory  was  not  so 
great  but  that  it  might  have  been  averted;  but 
no  one  seems  to  have  felt  that  she  would  be 
different  from  others  about  her.  and  if  any  one 
thought  of  her  future  it  was  not  with  the  least 
intuition  of  her  great  ability.  She  went  to  do 
drudgery  in  a  place  utterty  discordant  to  her  ; 
and  the  change  from  school  to  factory  cost  her 
untold  anguish. 

If  at  this  turning-point  in  her  career  some 
wise  and  beneficent  friend  had  interfered  in 
her  behalf  and  had  her  continue  at  her  educa- 
tion, how  different  might  have  been  her  life ! 
But  no  one  came,  and  she  dutifully  earned  the 
pittance  that  was  absorbed  in  the  family,  and 
her  mother  saw  the  sacrifice,  and  seemed  not 
to  realize  it.  No  one  recognized  her  genius 
or  spoke  in  its  behalf.  With  her  beautiful  face, 
gracious  manners  and  soft,  low  voice,  she  was 
utterly  out  of  place  in  a  factory;  and  it  would 
seem  that  her  mother  should  have  made  an 
effort  at  resistance  to  such  an  alternative. 

We  need  not  look  further  to  find  the  key  to 
the  causes  that  led  the  young  girl  to  fly  from 
her  home  and  all  that  knew  her;  nor  should  we 
add  one  more  unjust  thought  to  any  that  may  be 
harbored  against  her  for  taking  her  fate  into  her 
own  hands.  It  was  not  that  she  did  not  love  her 


23 

kindred  and  friends;  she  had  the  tenacious  affec- 
tion of  a  loving  child  for  all  about  her,  and  what 
she  suffered  in  leaving  all  behind  her  to  make 
her  way  to  distant  Leeds  and  still  more  distant 
London,  only  she  knew,  and  she  could  never 
refer  to  it  without  manifesting  poignant  sorrow. 
The  testimony  of  all  those  who  knew  her  in 
her  youth,  unbroken  and  unimpeachable,  is, that 
she  was  a  docile,  gentle  and  obliging  child  ;  an 
industrious  and  unselfish  girl,  ready  to  do  any 
work  that  came  to  hand,  and  despite  her  in- 
tellectual pre-eminence,  which  old  and  young 
alike  acknowledged,  never  spoiled.  Not  even 
was  she  made  vain  by  the  fact  that  she  was 
beautiful,  though  she  knew  that  hers  was  a 
comely  face  to  look  upon.  Almost  any  nature 
of  like  tenderness  and  innate  refinement  would 
have  been  destroyed  by  such  antagonistic 
treatment  as  hers  received,  and  it  is  saying  the 
last  conclusive  words  of  evidence  in  her  be- 
half, that  she  was  never  disloyal,  never  bitter 
against  those  who,  by  their  blindness,  made  her 
life  so  hard. 

One  groans  in  bitterness  over  the  blighting 
frost  that  settled  so  early  in  life  upon  the  lov- 
ing, trustful  heart,  and  wonders  that  the  brave 
spirit  held  its  course. 

Mr.  Shuttleworth,  a  present  resident  of 
Guiseley,  who  lived  there  when  the  Elands  re- 


24 

moved  to  the  village,  remembers  "Lizzie,"  as 
he  still  styles  her,  from  her  childhood.  At 
twelve  years  of  age  she  was  a  most  ravenous 
reader.  Meet  her  when  he  would  she  was  hold- 
ing some  book  or  paper  to  her  eyes,  and  so  in- 
tent was  she  upon  her  reading  that  she  often 
stumbled  against  people  in  the  lanes,  or  would 
bang  against  some  object  that  came  in  her  way. 
He  relates  this  incident  illustrative  of  her 
strong  dramatic  instinct,  which  occurred  when 
she  was  fourteen  years  old:  Once  she  took  a 
family,  where  she  was  visiting,  by  surprise,  by 
giving  a  specimen  of  her  dramatic  ability.  She 
had  been  reading  aloud  something  of  a  tragic 
character  in  a  book,  and  then  she  said,  ''  If  I 
were  an  actress,  this  is  the  way  in  which  I 
should  perform  the  scene  I  have  just  read 
you,"  and  then  she  at  once  went  through  a  mar- 
velous piece  of  impersonation,  which  she  ended 
by  throwing  herself  upon  a  sofa  and  going  off 
in  a  swoon — so  naturally  done  that  the  house- 
hold were  thrown  into  the  greatest  alarm,  be- 
lieving it  all  to  be  real.  She,  however,  soon  set 
their  fears  at  rest  by  springing  from  the  sofa 
with  a  merry  peal  of  laughter.  The  good  folks 
did  not  encourage  her  to  try  the  experiment 
again. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  young  girl 
discovered  the    fact    her    mother  had    never 


25 

thought  proper  to  tell  her.  The  secret  of  her 
birth  was  unsuspected  by  others,  it  would  ap- 
pear, and  became  known  to  her  by  accident, 
on  a  day  when  she  was  searching  a  chest  of 
drawers,  one  of  which  her  mother  kept  locked 
and  to  which  she  carried  the  key.  This  day  she 
had  gone  off  for  a  day's  sewing  and  had  for- 
gotten to  take  the  key  with  her,  and  her  daugh- 
ter finding  it,  opened  the  drawer  and  looked 
through  it.  Her  curiosity  to  know  its  contents 
may  have  induced  her  to  disobey  her  parent,  but 
it  is  as  likely  that  she  was  in  search  of  other 
plays,  and  hoped  to  find  that  some  were  con- 
cealed from  her  there.  At  all  events  she 
found  a  package  of  letters,  and,  delighted  to 
have  something  to  read,  took  them  and  ex- 
amined their  contents.  One  or  more  of  them 
alluded  to  "  the  child"  and  others  were  of  a 
nature  to  make  the  reader  aware  that  she  was 
connected  with  the  mystery  which  she  found 
in  them.  No  sooner  had  her  mother  returned 
than  she  told  her  of  her  discovery  and  de- 
manded an  explanation.  Confronted  by  the  ex- 
cited child,  and  fearing,  most  likely,  to  have  a 
scene  if  she~refused  to  tell  her  the  truth,  her 
mother  took  her  where  they  could  be  alone  and 
told  her  of  her  parentage.  The  fact  that  she 
was  not  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Bland,  nor  the 
sister  of  the  children  in  her  home,  had  a  curi- 


26 

ous  effect  upon  her.  She  said  nothing  to  her 
mother  then  or  afterward  regarding  the  revela- 
tion, but  restlessness  grew  upon  her  and 
her  mother's  influence  was  weakened.  There 
had  never  been  very  tender  relations  between 
them,  and  after  her  sad  discovery  the  girl  did 
not  care  to  be  at  home.  She  went  as  nurse  girl 
to  the  family  of  Mr.  John  Padgett,  at  the  Hawk- 
hill  House;  sleeping  at  home  nights  and  spend- 
ing the  days  in  the  Padgett  nursery,  where  she 
was  dearly  loved  by  the  little  inmates.  Her 
employers  have  invariably  spoken  of  her  in 
highest  terms,  and  since  her  death  they  have 
obligingly  answered  all  inquiries  concerning 
her. 

She  was  gradually  weaned  from  the  home 
circle  by  the  life  she  led,  and  when  she  finally- 
reached  the  determination  to  leave  Guiseley 
and  seek  employment  elsewhere,  the  only  per- 
son she  told  of  her  intention  was  the  lady  for 
whom  she  worked,  Mrs.  Padgett.  There  have 
been  painful  explanations  made  of  her  final 
decision  to  leave  home,  which  are  put  forward 
as  an  extenuation  of  her  conduct  in  not  appris- 
ing her  mother  of  her  intentions;  but  they  are 
not  authentic,  and  are  not.. essential  to  a  full 
understanding  of  the  case  by  all  whoever  knew 
the  woman  herself,  or  have  had  knowledge 
of  her  character.  She  went  to  Mrs.  Padgett's 


27 

house  daily  for  two  years,  and  was  in  her  sev- 
enteenth year  when  she  left  her  service.  It  has 
been  said  that  she  was  younger  by  three  years, 
but  this  is  most  likely  the  correct  age.  She  was 
daily  realizing  the  depressing  influences  that 
her  distasteful  life  were  having  upon  her,  and 
yet  she  saw  no  remedy  for  it.  Her  personal 
charms  were  so  noticeable  that  the  young  peo- 
ple joked  her  often  about  her  admirers,  but  re- 
ceived in  reply  little  encouragement  to  repeat 
their  banter.  On  several  occasions  she  said  to 
her  employer,  in  referring  to  these  conversa- 
tions, that  she  intended  to  be  something;  that 
she  would  not  live  in  Guiseley  all  her  life.  Just 
what  circumstance  occurred  that  made  her  an- 
nounce one  day  that  she  should  give  up  her 
position  and  leave  it  that  night,  is  not  known. 
She  was  hardly  believed  to  be  in  earnest,  for, 
despite  the  unsatisfactory  condition  of  things, 
she  loved  the  home  circle  and  clung  to  her 
mother  as  the  nearest  of  all  human  beings  to 
her.  She  communicated  her  intention  of  go- 
ing to  Mrs.  Padgett,  and  that  lady  tried  to  dis- 
suade her;  finding,  however,  that  persuasion 
would  not  avail,  she  paid  her  what  was  due 
for  her  services  and  saw  her  depart  at  night- 
fall to  return  no  more. 

"  The  unhappy  girl  cried  bitterly,"  said  Mrs. 
Padgett,  in  relating  the  incident  years  after, 


28 

"and  said  she  could  not  stay  at  home  any 
longer;  that  she  should  go  away  and  live;  but 
I  did  not  suppose  she  would  leave  that  very 
night,  alone  and  unprovided  with  sufficient 
clothing  to  make  a  journey."  That  night  she 
went  away,  but  was  not  missing  until  the  next 
evening.  Her  mother,  supposing  her  to  be  at 
her  employment,  felt  no  uneasiness  until  she 
failed  to  appear  the  second  night,  and  when 
she  learned  that  she  was  gone  it  was  too  late 
to  overtake  her,  even  had  they  known  where 
to  look  for  her. 

Leaving  Mrs.  Padgett,  the  young  girl  walked 
to  Apperly  Bridge,  where  she  took  the  train  for 
Leeds,  and  on  reaching  there  went  to  the  house 
of  an  aunt  who  resided  there.  This  aunt  was 
an  elderly  woman,  and  was  fond  of  her  pretty 
niece  who  was  so  dutiful  a  child,  and — what 
was  of  more  importance  in  her  eyes — was  so 
faithful  an  attendant  at  Sunday-school.  She 
seems  not  to  have  tried  to  exert  any  influ- 
ence over  her  young  relative,  if  she  knew  of 
her  intention  of  going  to  Leeds,  and  the  next 
day  Lizzie  left  her  and  proceeded  to  London, 
which  city  she  reached  late  in  the  day  in  a 
friendless  condition. 

After  walking  the  streets,  not  knowing  what 
to  do,  she  sat  down  exhausted  in  Hyde  Park 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  slept  that  night  un- 


29 

der  the  protecting  shelter  of  the  trees.  Early 
in  the  morning  she  met  a  policeman  to  whom 
she  told  her  condition  and  asked  him  to  help 
her  to  get  work.  He  took  her  to  his  own  home, 
where  she  was  kindly  received  by  his  wife,  who 
was  as  completely  convinced  of  the  truth  of  her 
story  as  was  her  husband.  The  homeless,  name- 
less girl  made  herself  useful  in  the  family  and 
soon  endeared  herself  to  them  by  her  fondness 
for  their  children  and  her  sweet,  obliging  ways. 
Later  on  she  sought  a  place  where  she  could 
earn  something,  and  obtained  work  as  a  seam- 
stress. While  sewing  for  small  wages  she 
went  to  the  theatre  on  several  occasions,  and 
one  day  made  her  way  to  a  manager  and  asked 
him  for  employment.  Her  beautiful  face  and 
pleasing  manners  helped  her  in  securing  a  start, 
and  in  the  humble  place  of  ballet-girl,  which 
was  offered  her,  she  earned  money  enough  to 
buy  needful  and  suitable  clothing.  Thus,  in  a 
short  time  after  she  had  reached  London,  she 
had  entered  upon  the  career  she  had  so  ar- 
dently desired  to  follow,  and  had  brought  to  it 
an  intense  and  healthful  ambition  to  excel  in  it. 

Her  superiority  over  the  other  ballet-girls 
was  made  manifest  at  once,  and  the  stage- 
manager  became  so  interested  in  her  that  he 
advanced  her  to  a  better  place. 

Her  Yorkshire  accent,  which  had  convinced 


30 

the  policeman  whose  aid  she  asked,  that  she 
was  from  the  country,  was  still  too  pronounced 
to  admit  of  her  overcoming  it  without  study, 
and  she  was  offered  the  opportunity  to  educate 
herself  by  this  manager,  who  was  not  only  im- 
pressed that  she*  had  high  histrionic  abilities, 
but  was  also  personally  fascinated  by  her. 
To  his  genuine  interest  she  owed  her  start  on 
the  career  she  made  for  herself.  He  helped 
her  at  the  turning  point  of  her  life  and  made 
it  possible  for  her  to  reach  the  dramatic  rank 
she  subsequently  acquired. 

Acting  on  his  advice,  and  with  the  pecuniary 
aid  offered  her  by  him,  she  studied  for  two 
years,  making  herself  proficient  in  her  line  of 
work  and  the  cultivated  woman  she  came  to  be. 
She  told  Mr.  Padgett,  during  her  first  visit  to 
Guiseley — in  recounting  to  him  her  history  sub- 
sequent to  the  time  of  her  leaving  there — that 
during  the  years  she  was  at  school  she  devoted 
eighteen  out  of  the  tw.enty-four  to  her  studies, 
and  mastered  seven  languages. 

Her  first  appearance  was  in  1865,  as  Juliet,  at 
Margate  Theatre,  then  under  the  management 
of  the  Messrs.  Thorne.  She  made  a  success, 
and  a  few  weeks  later  she  appeared  at  the  Roy- 
alty Theatre  in  the  same  character,  and  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  press  and  the  pub- 
lic. Later  on,  she  drew  all  London  to  Drury 


31 

Lane,  to  see  her  interpretation  of  Amy  Robsart, 
and  Pauline. 

Subsequently,  she  played  in  the  provinces 
and  was  everywhere  received  with  delight. 
Her  salary  was  rapidly  increased,  until  she 
commanded  in  London  £400  a  week. 

When  the  young  girl  left  Guiseley  she  called 
herself  Lizzie  Bland,  but  as  soon  as  she  began 
her  theatrical  career  she  took  the  name  of 
Lilian  Adelaide  Lessont,  which  she  afterwards 
changed  to  Neilson,  and  legally  owned.  She 
was  so  poor  when  she  began  as  not  to  have 
even  a  name  of  her  own! 

Six  years  from  the  time  she  left  home,  dur- 
ing which  period  she  had  never  communicated 
with  her  family,  or  divulged  her  whereabouts, 
she  made  her  first  professional  visit  to  Leeds. 
In  that  interval  Mr.  Bland  had  died,  and  Mrs. 
Bland  and  the  surviving  children  were  still  liv- 
ing in  the  humblest  circumstances  in  quiet 
Guiseley.  Mrs.  Bland  had  read  in  the  news- 
papers that  an  actress  of  great  beauty  and 
celebrity  was  coming  to  Leeds  to  play,  and 
having  an  intuitive  idea  that  the  lovely  woman 
was  her  daughter,  she  went  to  the  city  to  satisfy 
herself.  She  learned  that  the  actress  was  stop- 
ping at  the  White  Horse  Hotel,  Boar  Lane, 
and  going  there  and  stating  her  errand,  was 
admitted  to  the  rooms  of  her  daughter.  The 


32 

latter  instantly  recognized  her  and  welcomed 
her  affectionately,  and  when  they  parted,  she 
to  return  to  Guiseley  and  her  daughter  to  Lon- 
don, she  carried  with  her  substantial  proof  of 
her  child's  interest  in  her.  In  a  few  months 
Miss  Neiison  returned  to  Leeds,  and  true  to  her 
promise,  made  a  visit  to  her  mother. 

This  visit  was  a  hurried  one,  and  was  taken 
by  Miss  Neilson  mainly  for  the  purpose  of 
placing  her  mother  above  want.  She  invested 
£3,000,  the  interest  of  which  she  settled  upon 
her  mother  and  left  her  in  comfort. 

On  the  occasion  of  her  second  visit,  made  in 
1869,  two  years  later,  "  her  appearance  at 
church,"  said  Mr.  Shuttle  worth,  who  was  the 
organist  at  that  time,  created  such  a  furore 
that  she  was  alarmed  and  refused  afterward  to 
appear  on  the  street.  Her  resplendent  beauty, 
and  the  superb  apparel  she  wore,  quite  turned 
the  heads  of  the  quiet  villagers,  who  climbed 
over  pews  and  fought  for  an  opportunity 
to  see  her.  The  contrast  must  have  been 
striking  between  the  young  girl  who  had  played 
in  the  streets  and  worked  in  the  factory  at 
Green  Bottom,  and  the  woman  who  was  in  the 
zenith  of  her  fame  and  beauty.  She  was  rich, 
and  her  jewels,  the  gifts  of  royalty  and  nobility, 
were  valued  at  £10,000.  The  earrings  that  she 
wore  were  composed  of  two  costly  diamond  soli- 


33 

taires,  presents  from  the  Russian  and  Austrian 
Ambassadors,  and  her  ordinary  dress  was  rich 
and  beautiful.  She  was  the  same  unaffectedly 
kind  person  she  had  ever  been  and  her  old 
friends  were  made  happy  in  her  coming  among 
them.  These  visits  to  Guiseley  were  not  happy 
ones  to  herself,  however;  they  recalled  too 
vividly  the  sufferings  she  had  endured  and  the 
mistake  she  felt  she  had  made  in  the  manner 
of  her  departure  from  the  village.  A  friend  who 
knew  her  well  in  those  days,  states  that  she  was 
keenly  sensitive  on  this  point  and  could  never 
allude  to  her  early  life  without  expressing 
regret  at  her  course — a  course  which  this  friend 
in  common  with  others,  thought  entirely  de- 
fensible in  view  of  all  the  circumstances. 

This  same  friend  is  authority  also  for  this 
statement:  that  the  happiest  days  of  Miss  Neil- 
son's  life  were  spent  at  the  home  of  her  hus- 
band's parents,  Stoke  Bruen,  Northampton- 
shire. (She  had  married  in  1864  Mr.  Philip 
Henry  Lee,  the  eldest  son  of  the  family.) 
Here  she  would  go  in  the  summer  months, 
during  the  earlier  years  of  her  married 
life,  and  in  the  quiet  parsonage  find  con- 
tentment and  rest.  She  was,  when  there,  con- 
stant in  her  attendance  at  the  Sabbath  school, 
and  the  church,  and  her  sweet  manners  made 
her  the  idol  of  the  villagers.  Undoubtedly  she 


34 

had  a  nature  strongly  domestic  and  responsive  to 
the  endearing  influences  of  home  life.  She  was 
also  naturally  a  reverent  person,  not  onlyin  her 
childhood,  but  throughout  her  life.  Her  mother 
says  she  would  often  find  her  at  night,  kneel- 
ing beside  her  little  cot,  with  her  bare  feet 
peeping  out  from  under  her  scant  night-dress, 
and  her  hands  clasped  before  her,  while  her 
solemn,  uplifted  eyes  shone  with  a  beautiful 
expression  as  she  repeated  softly  her  simple 
prayer. 

The  old  aunt,  to  whose  house  she  went  the 
night  she  left  her  home,  had,  among  her  treas- 
ures, a  religious  poem,  written  by  Adelaide  at 
her  request.  The  aunt  was  a  devoted  Metho- 
dist, and  highly  prized  the  composition,  which 
Adelaide's  mother  keeps  among  her  treasures 
now.  It  is  mere  doggerel,  but  is  of  interest,  as 
showing  that  her  mind  was  one  which  could 
have  been  easily  attuned  to  poetic  and  religious 
expression. 

THE  DYING  YEAR. 
At  last  the  year  has  passed  away, 

Gone  from  this  world  of  pain; 
Lord,  lead  us  in  Thy  path  to-day, 

And  to  begin  the  year  again. 

0  Lord  of  beauty,  God  of  love, 

For  me  in  blood  was  bathed; 
The  world  has  heard  Thee  from  above: 

Believe — and  you'll  be  saved  ! 


35 

He  said,  0  come  and  see, 

Ye  wanderers  of  the  earth; 
He  said,  abide  in  Me: 

My  love  is  sweet  in  death. 

There  are  many  incidents  told  of  her  that 
show  the  native  quality  of  the  woman,  the 
richness  and  depth  of  her  soul.  One,  in  par- 
ticular, which  may  be  related  here,  though  it 
belongs  to  a  later  time: 

On  the  occasion  of  one  of  her  visits  to  her 
mother,  when  they  were  taking  an  afternoon 
ride  together,  she  espied  a  bed  of  bluebells 
blooming  in  rich  profusion,  and  her  mother 
gives  this  account  of  the  effect  of  their  beauty 
upon  her. 

She  stopped  the  carriage,  saying,  "We 
must  stop,  mother.  I  must  go  to  those  flow^ 
ers."  And  when  they  had  both  reached  the 
place  where  the  ground  was  covered  with  blue 
blossoms,  she  knelt  down,  bent  low  over  them 
and  kissed  them  right  and  left.  Then  she 
gathered  her  hands  full,  and  as  she  stood  ar- 
ranging them,  looking  first  at  them  and  at 
those  at  her  feet,  she  burst  into  tears,  exclaim- 
ing in  agitated  tones,  "  Oh  !  lovely,  innocent 
flowers :  lovely,  innocent  flowers. "  Her  mother 
chided  her  kindly  wishing  to  soothe  her;  but 
the  pain  was  genuine,  and  too  deep  to  be  con- 
trolled. "  Mother,"  she  said,  grasping  her 


36 

parent's  arm  as  she  faced  her,  with  the  tears 
streaming  down  her  face,  *'  Mother,  I  have 
stood  with  flowers  piled  about  me  on  the  stage, 
but  never  have  I  felt  as  I  did  kneeling  here  by 
these  blue  bells — these  pure,  innocent  flowers 
that  God  has  just  fresh  made."  Turning 
abruptly  away  she  walked  off  alone,  and  when 
she  resumed  her  seat  in  the  carriage  she  had 
regained  her  composure,  much  to  her  mother's 
relief. 

Had  her  mother  possessed  the  magic  key 
that  would  have  unlocked  the  sensitive,  hun- 
gry nature,  what  rest  and  comfort  would  have 
filled  both  hearts. 

•        •••••••• 

A  trip  to  Guiseley  now,  to  learn  of  Adelaide 
Neilson,  would  be  as  unsatisfactory  as  a  visit  to 
Haworth  to  gather  facts  regarding  Charlotte 
Bronte,  or  her  wonderful  sisters.  There  is 
simply  nothing  at  all  in  the  place  to  recall  her. 
She  is  associated  with  nothing  there,  and  no 
one  lives  who  knew  the  real  woman  half  so 
well  as  did  her  friends  in  London  and  New 
York.  Her  mother  has  been  unfortunate  in  the 
impression  she  has  made  upon  the  strangers  who 
went  there  after  her  daughter's  death  to  learn  of 
her;  and  her  refusal  to  confirm  the  statements 
known  to  be  true  regarding  her  daughter's 
early  days,  has  led  to  false  representations  as  to 


37 

her  motives  for  keeping  silence — where  it  would 
have  been  well  to  speak — since  the  desire  to 
know  the  truth  is  a  laudable  one  on  the  part 
of  the  admirers  of  the  great  actress. 

Annoyed  by  visitors,  Mrs.  Bland  has  removed 
from  the  house  given  her  by  her  daughter  and 
has  gone  to  reside  in  another  village.  The  house 
in  which  the  Elands  lived  for  so  many  years  has 
been  pulled  down;  so  also  has  been  the  building 
where  Adelaide  attended  school.  The  present 
home  of  Mrs.  Bland  is  at  Yeadon,  a  village  a 
mile  distant  from  Guiseley.  A  Yorkshire 
friend,  who  obligingly  visited  her  recently,  to 
gather,  if  possible,  some  facts  for  this  sketch, 
gives  me  particulars  of  his  interview  in  the 
following  letter  : 

I  was  so  surprised  to  learn  that  Mrs  Bland 
was  still  in  the  neighborhood  that  I  did  not  very 
much  regret  the  result  of  my  profitless  visit  to 
the  schoolmaster.  From  there  I  found  my  way 
to  Swaine  Hill,  in  Yeadon  (the  next  village), 
where  I  had  been  directed,  and  on  asking  for 
the  abode  of  Mrs.  Bland  was  pointed  to  a  nice, 
newly-built  dwelling  (one  of  four),  command- 
ing a  fine  prospect  in  the  direction  of  Guiseley, 
where  the  old  church  towers  might  be  seen 
peeping  over  the  trees  and  making  just  such  a 
picture  as  Birkett  Foster  loves  to  paint.  On 
trying  the  gate,  however,  I  found  it  securely 


38 

fastened  with  a  padlock,  so  was  obliged  to  go 
round  to  the  back  door.  A  woman  responded 
to  my  knock  who  I  thought  might  be  Mrs. 
Bland.  Before  I  could  introduce  myself  she 
at  once  said,  "you  had  better  go  round  to  the 
front."  I  told  her  I  had  already  tried  that 
means  of  access,  but  had  found  the  gate 
locked  She  motioned  me  to  go  round  again, 
and  I  did  so.  Presently  a  cheerful  and  very 
polite  little  woman  opened  the  gate,  ushered 
me  into  the  front  room,  asked  me  take  a  seat, 
and  said  Mrs.  Bland  would  be  with  me  soon. 
I  was  in  a  light,  cheerful-looking  parlor, 
with  a  bay  window,  the  latter  nicely  set  off 
with  plants  and  the  pleasant  outlook  I  have 
mentioned.  The  room  was  papered  with  a 
light,  showy  paper.  There  were  pictures  on 
the  walls  of  a  cheap  sort  and  somewhat  sen- 
timental in  character.  But  there  was  one 
worth  more  than  all  the  rest — a  fine  photo- 
portrait  of  Adelaide — a  striking  contrast  to  its 
surroundings. 

In  the  middle  of  the  floor  was  a  folding 
(wainscot)  screen  covered  or  being  covered 
with  pictures  of  all  sizes  and  colors.  On  the 
table  were  pictures,  assorted  and  made  ready  for 
the  screen,  and  a  paste  pot  and  brush. 

The  apartment  was  pretty  well  furnished,  but 
it  had  somehow  an  utter  absence  of  warmth  and 


39 

comfort.  There  were  no  book  shelves  or  books 
to  be  seen. 

After  having  been  kept  waiting  about  five 
minutes  the  door  opened  and  in  glided  the  person 
whom  I  had  seen  at  the  back  door,  and  who 
begged  me  to  be  seated  and  to  state  the  object  of 
my  visit.  This  was  the  mother  of  Adelaide 
Neilson — Mrs.  Bland. 

She  was  a  fairly  tall,  spare  woman  who  never 
could  have  been  good  looking,  and  who,  now, 
was  almost  ugly.  Not  that  her  features  were  in 
the  least  misshapen  or  irregular — but  there  was 
something  grim,  cold,  and  severe  in  her  face — 
a  face  that  seemed  never  to  have  known  a  smile. 
Her  whole  appearance  was  sombre.  In  years 
she  seemed  about  sixty.  On  her  head  she  had 
something  between  a  cap  and  bonnet,  and  every- 
thing she  wore  looked  faded.  She  had  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  fourth-rate  tragedienne,  and  could 
not  be  natural  however  she  might  try.  She 
spoke  slowly  and  deliberately,  and  sometimes 
in  so  low  a  key  as  scarcely  to  be  audible,  but  oc- 
casionally she  would  rise  from  her  chair,  stamp 
one  foot  down  firmly  (as  if  "  treading  the 
boards  ")  and  speak  in  a  shrill,  loud  key.  Once 
I  felt  alarmed,  as  I  thought  she  could  not  be 
quite  sane.  But  she  suddenly  resumed  her  ordi- 
nary manner,  and  became  silent  and  reserved. 

This  description  of  the  lady  will  enable  you 


40 

better  to  understand  the  interview  I  had  with 
her.  After  having  expressed  (as  gently  and 
carefully  as  I  could)  the  object  of  my  visit,  she 
said  she  was  not  at  all  surprised,  for  she  had 
had  many  such — in  fact  a  great  deal  too  many. 
Newsmongers  and  curiosity-seekers  had  simply 
taken  her  by  storm  since  Adelaide's  death.  She 
had  had  as  many  as  twenty-seven  visitors  in 
one  day. 

At  first  she  said  she  was  not  at  all  reluctant 
to  tell  what  she  knew  about  her  daughter's 
career,  but  had  been  so  shamefully  misrepre- 
sented and  slandered  that  she  had  quite  made 
up  her  mind  never  to  say  another  word  to  any- 
one on  the  subject. 

She  then  alluded  to  a  lady  who  had  come  all 
the  way  from  America  (she  was  really  a  native 
of  a  village  near  Guiseley — Baildon)  to  pick  up 
all  the  particulars  she  could  about  Miss  Xeilson 
and  her  family  connections,  but  she  had  gone 
about  it  in  a  strange  fashion.  First,  she  had 
picked  up  some  gossiping  woman  in  the  village, 
who  not  only  told  her  all  she  knew,  but  also 
many  things  that  she  didn't  know — pure  and 
complete  fabrications,  or  in  other  words,  bare- 
faced and  scandalous  lies.  The  lady  had  then 
returned  to  America  and  actually  printed  and 
circulated  all  that  she  had  been  told  by  the 
Guiseley  woman,  without  having  taken  the 


.  .     . 


41 

trouble  to  ascertain  whether  there  was  any 
truth  in  what  she  stated.  This  "  American 
lady "  I  take  it  •  was  the  one  who  wrote  the 
narrative  you  sent  me  to  read.  Mrs.  Bland 
is  terribly  incensed  against  her.  She  said  she 
had  been  strongly  advised  to  bring  an  action 
against  her  for  libel. 

Interrupting  her  as  rarely  as  I  could,  I  tried 
to  draw  her  into  a  general  conversation  about 
Adelaide,  but  with  indifferent  success.  "  No/' 
she  said,  "  you  must  not  ask  a  single  question 
about  my  daughter,  for  I  shall  not  answer  it. 
I  am  not  treating  you  with  any  more  disrespect 
than  I  treat  others,  but  I  have  made  a  vow  and 
heaven  helping  me  I  will  keep  it ! "  (Here  she 
began  to  be  tragic.)  "  I  have  been  shamefully 
and  outrageously  betrayed,"  she  exclaimed, 
"but  my  poor,  dead  child  will  some  day  be 
avenged,  as  sure  as  there  is  a  God  above  ! " 
"  I  am  but  a  woman,  but  there  is  a  spirit  within 
me  that  people  know  not  of.  My  slanderous 
enemies  I  could  persecute  to  the  death  ! "  I 
tried  to  appease  and  soothe  her  as  much  as 
possible,  and  she  gradually  became  calmer. 

If  her  "  enemies  "  were  good  at  making  false 
statements,  she  was  equally  good  at  denying 
them.  In  fact  she  denied  everything.  Adelaide 
(she  said)  had  never  worked  in  a  factory;  had 
never  been  a  nurse-girl,  either  for  Mrs.  Padgett 


42 

or  anybody  else;  had  never  run  away  from  home 
— in  short,  she  had  never  done  anything  at  all 
that  people  said  she  had.  Mrs.  Bland  wanted 
to  give  me  the  impression  that  as  her  daughter 
became  a  great  actress,  she  was  born  great, 
and  that  everything  about  her  was  great.  This 
greatness  she  seems  determined  to  uphold,  but, 
alas,  the  family  is  too  well  known  at  Guiseley. 
Adelaide  was  a  dutiful  child  and  her  filial  regard 
took  the  practical  shape  of  leaving  her  mother 
in  good  circumstances.  Mrs.  Bland  seems  now 
very  anxious  to  forget  the  days  of  poverty, 
when  Lizzie  was  a  poor  girl  running  about  the 
fields  and  lanes  of  Guiseley,  and  she  is  an- 
noyed that  this  period  in  the  family  history 
should  now  be  spoken  of.  It  is  absurd  for 
her  to  cherish  such  views.  In  an  interview 
I  had  with  Mr.  Shuttleworth,  the  organist  at 
Guiseley  Church  at  the  time  when  Miss  Neilson 
visited  it,  that  gentleman,  long  a  resident  in 
Guiseley,  told  me  that  Mrs.  Bland  was  alto- 
gether wrong  in  denying  the  statements  that 
her  daughter  had  worked  in  a  factory,  been  a 
nurse-girl,  and  run  away.  He  was  very  much 
surprised  at  her  attempt  to  repudiate  such 
plain  facts. 

Mrs.  Bland  professed  great  affection  for  her 
talented  daughter.  She  said  she  had  taken 
Adelaide's  death  so  much  to  heart,  that  for 


43 

several  weeks  she  could  eat  nothing.  At  last 
the  doctor  told  her  that  if  she  did  not  cease 
such  fretting  she  could  not  live  long. 

She  remembered  her  son,  a  young  man,  her 
only  remaining  offspring,  and  thought  it  best 
not  to  die  at  present.  I  must  confess  to  being 
out  of  all  patience  with  her  maudlin  and  senti- 
mental way  of  expressing  her  sympathetic  feel- 
ings. "  Poor,  dear  Adelaide,"  she  exclaimed, 
'*  she  was  indeed  an  angel  upon  earth."  Going 
to  a  small  cupboard  she  brought  out  a  scrap- 
book  or  album,  which  she  placed  on  the 
table  for  me  to  look  at.  Turning  over  the 
leaves  I  saw  a  wonderful  collection  of  (dried) 
flowers  which  she  said  had  been  sent  her 
(Mrs.  Bland)  from  nearly  all  parts  of  the  world. 
"  This,"  she  said,  pointing  to  one,  "  was  given 
to  me  by  my  friend  Lord  "  (somebody,  I  don't 
recollect  who),  "  and  that  (pointing  to  another) 

I  received  from  Count ."   On  one  page  were 

some  written  verses  signed  at  the  foot  "  A. 
Bland."  "These  lines,"  she  said, "  I  wrote  shortly 
after  my  daughter's  death."  She  begged  me  to 
read  them.  I  did  so  and  found  them  to  be 
sheer  nonsense.  I  did  not  say  so,  but  in- 
stead made  some  remark  expressive  of  surprise 
that  to  her  other  qualifications  she  added  that 
of  poet.  "Oh,  yes!"  she  exclaimed,  "the 
power  of  expressing  my  thoughts  in  verse  has 


44 

been  a  great  comfort  to  me.  It  is  surprising 
how  we  poets  do  live  in  a  world  of  our  own. 
Ordinary,  common-place  people  cannot  under- 
stand us."  I  merely  said,  "indeed,"  and,  more 
for  the  sake  of  saying  something,  than  for  any 
better  reason,  I  asked  if  she  would  kindly  al- 
low me  to  take  a  copy  of  the  verses.  She,  how- 
ever, declined.  The  book  contained  several 
other  effusions  of  hers,  which  I  did  not  read. 
The  flowers  were,  indeed,  very  fine,  and  I  fancy 
the  book  had  been  Adelaide's. 

I  did  not,  of  course,  venture  to  say  a  word 
concerning  Miss  Neilson's  father.  Had  I  done 
so  the  consequences  might  have  been  serious 
to  me.  He  is  a  mystery  and  likely  to  remain  so. 

As  I  found  it  impossible  to  gain  anything 
from  Mrs.  Bland,  I  wished  her  good-bye,  and 
thanked  her  for  the  interview  she  had  allowed 
me.  She  saw  me  to  the  door  very  graciously, 
and  I  left  her,  disappointed  at  my  inability  to 
learn  more  of  her  wonderfully-gifted  daughter. 

While  in  the  village  I  made  inquiries  of  both 
Mr.  Frizell  and  Mr.  Shuttleworth  as  to  places 
of  interest  associated  with  the  name  of  Lizzie 
Bland  that  I  might  sketch,  but  found  there  was 
absolutely  nothing.  The  house  in  which  Lizzie 
and  her  mother  lived  had  been  pulled  down:  so 
had  the  school-house  to  which  Lizzie  had  gone. 
I  made  a  sketch  of  the  house  in  which  Mrs. 


45 

Bland  now  lives,  which  I  enclose.  There  is 
nothing  more  to  be  learnt  of  the  famous  actress 
in  that  quarter. 

Of  Miss  Neilson's  life  as  an  actress  it  is  not 
possible  in  this  sketch  to  make  more  than  men- 
tion. After  a  career  of  unvarying  success 
in  Great  Britain,  she  came  to  this  country 
in  1872,  and  made  her  first  appearance  at 
Booth's  Theatre  as  Juliet.  Her  tour  from 
city  to  city  was  a  triumphal  march,  and  she 
left  the. United  States  richer  in  reputation  and 
money.  In  the  autumn  of  1874  she  returned, 
and  was  as  warmly  received.  This  time  she 
made  her  debut  at  Booth's  Theatre  as  Amy  Rob- 
sart,  and  appeared  as  Julia,  in  "  The  Hunch- 
back," as  Pauline  in  "  The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  and 
as  Juliet.  Her  success  was  complete  in  every 
role  she  assumed,  and  she  was  the  dramatic 
idol  of  the  day. 

Again  she  came  and  her  success  was  marked. 
When  on  the  night  of  May  8th  she  bade  adieu 
to  her  New  York  friends,  Mr.  William  Winter 
wrote,  in  the  Tribune,  this  farewell: 

"  Since  the  night  when  Dickens,  with  slow  step  and  sad  face, 
made  his  last  exit  from  the  stage  of  Steinway  Hall,  there  has 
been  no  theatrical  sensation  in  this  city  at  once  so  animated 
with  chivalry  and  so  touching  with  sense  of  sorrow  and  loss. 
We  shall  see  other  actresses  whose  powers  are  as  distinct,  who 
are  unique  in  one  element  or  another,  and  potent  on  some  one 


46 

line  of  art;  we  are  not  likely  again  to  see  an  actress  in  whom 
are  combined  as  they  have  revealed  themselves  in  her  the 
attributes  of  power,  fire,  tendei'ness  and  grace.  She  is  ex- 
ceptional in  this,  and  that  is  the  reason  her  career  has  been 
one  of  conquest  and  continued  popularity." 

On  her  first  two  visits  to  America  Adelaide 
Neilson  was  accompanied  by  her  husband, 
Philip  Lee.  Their  domestic  relations  which  for 
some  years  were  happy,  became  otherwise,  and 
in  1877  they  were  divorced,  the  decree  being 
obtained  by  her  in  the  Supreme  Court,  New 
York.  That  season,  '76-77,  she  gave  one  hun- 
dred performances  in  the  United  States,  under 
the  management  of  Mr.  Strakosch. 

She  had  been  married  fourteen  years  when 
she  was  divorced,  and  the  incident,  and  the 
circumstances  coupled  with  it,  affected  her 
greatly.  In  the  early  years  of  her  married  life 
she  was  deeply  attached  to  her  husband,  and 
to  his  family.  After  her  divorce  she  frequently 
expressed  a  determination  to  retire  from  the 
stage,  and  at  the  close  of  her  season  here  in 
1879  her  theatrical  wardrobe  was  sold,  and  she 
left  this  country  intending  to  have  some  years 
of  private  life.  Lovers  of  Shakespeare  the 
world  over  regretted  to  hear  of  this  step,  be- 
cause she  was  the  embodiment  of  his  charac- 
ters, and  there  was  none  to  interpret  them  as 
she  did.  For  centuries  men  had  read  of  Juliet 
and  Rosalind,  Beatrice  and  Viola,  but  in  im- 


47 

agination  only  had  they  pictured  them.  Neil- 
son  came  and  she  was  each  and  all.  She  was 
"  Shakespeare's  woman,"  brilliant  and  capti- 
vating in  all  her  artistic  and  personal  character- 
istics— alone  in  these — while  she  was  the  peer 
of  all  who  had  preceded  her  in  the  representa- 
tions she  made  her  own. 

A  critic  writing  of  her  performance  at  a 
Shakespearean  Reading  which  she  gave  in  New 
York  in  1874,  says  of  her: 

'  In  Miss  Neilson  are  combined  the  tenderest  feminine  love- 
liness with  that  intelligence  which  apprehends  all  meanings 
through  the  heart,  and  as  long  as  man's  mind  is  robust  and 
wholesome  such  a  union  of  attributes  will  have  a  power  in  the 
mental  world.  .  .  .  No  man  who  heard  her  read  the  "May 
Queen,"  in  the  pathetic  part  of  which  the  tears  rained  from 
her  eyes,  will  forget  it  to  the  last  day  of  the  longest  life.  To 
hear  words  of  such  glee  and  such  solemn  tenderness  from  lips 
so  lovely  and  a  heart  so  fond  of  good  is  to  know  what  poetry 
means — in  that  interior  essence  whicb,  to  use  Moore's  fine  fig- 
ure, is  the  fragrance  of  the  wood  that  grows  precious  as  it 
burns.  In  other  parts  she  was  sweet  and  grave,  like  some  an- 
gelic child.  She  manifested  a  fine  talent  in  the  lighter 
comedy,  a  great  deal  of  true  humor,  and  a  fire  of  martial  en- 
thusiasm. Certain  vocal  exploits,  such  as  the  crier's  speech 
in  the  Ingoldsby  Legend,  showed  her  resources  of  voice  and 
evoked  delighted  plaudits.  The  rarer  merit  was  the  deeper  one 
of  emotion  always  adequate,  taste  always  true,  if  we  except  one 
bit  in  the  selection  from  Congreve,  and  refinement  pervading 
and  adorning  all." 

The  portraits  accompanying  this  sketch  repre- 
sent her  in  the  famous  characters  she  essayed, 


48 

and  her  beautiful  personality  is  recalled  in  each 
and  all.  In  studying  them  one  may  well  ex- 
claim in  Shakespeare's  words: 

"  She  hath  a  holy  gift  of  prophecy, 
And  sundry  blessings  bang  about  her  head 
That  showed  her  full  of  grace." 

Some  one  has  described  fascination  to  be  "  the 
magnetism  of  imagination  and  thought,"  and 
the  definition  is  applicable  to  the  character  of 
Miss  Neilson;  she  had  the  magnetism  of  a  sin- 
cere and  trusting  nature;  hers  was  a  kind  and 
unselfish  soul,  and  her  very  faults  were  the  mis- 
directed growths  of  her  finest  qualities.  Her 
impetuosity  was  offset  by  a  docile,  forgiving 
spirit,  and  as  child  and  woman  she  was  sen- 
sitive to  kindness  and  appreciative  of  recogni- 
tion. Of  all  who  knew  her  in  her  Yorkshire 
home,  not  one  but  emphasizes  her  gentle  be- 
havior, her  native  refinement.  Viewed  from  the 
loftiest  altitude  of  mind  everything  that  comes 
to  a  life  is  recognized  as  the  best  thing  for  its 
permanent  welfare,  even  if  through  the  world's 
conventional  lens  it  seems  otherwise.*  Whatever 
may  have  been  the  shortcomings  of  her  life, 
however  much  she  may  have  wronged  herself, 
it  is  well  to  believe,  with  the  Buddhists,  that 
we  are  born  into  this  world  to  rid  ourselves  of 
certain  inherent  weaknesses  and  failings,  and 
that  we  get  rid  of  them  in  suffering  the  conse- 


r 


49 

quences  they  bring  to  us.  Through  discipline 
and  pain  her  soul  fitted  itself  for  the  higher 
conditions  of  the  life  she  now  knows. 

Her  voice,  than  which  there  is  no  surer  in- 
dication of  character  in  man  or  woman,  was 
soft  and  sweet  as  a  child's,  and  had  a  cadence 
in  her  maturer  years  which  touched  the  ear  of 
all  who  heard  it ;  it  was  appealing,  pathetic, 
melodious.  Her  mouth  was  more  beautiful 
in  expression  than  in  outline  ;  and  this  is 
true  of  all  her  features,  with  the  exception  of  her 
eyes,  which  were  large  and  lustrous.  Her  head 
was  small  and  shapely,  and  her  ruddy  brown 
hair  well  suited  the  pale,  olive-tinted  complex- 
ion. She  was  slight  of  form  and  queenly  in 
bearing. 

Hers  was  a  personality  pre-eminently 
adapted  for  the  Shakespearean  juvenile  charac- 
ters she  assumed  so  unapproachably ;  and 
could  the  great  dramatist,  looking  back  over 
the  centuries  of  time,  have  seen  the  visible  em- 
bodiments of  the  characters  he  drew  in  Rosa- 
lind, Viola,  Beatrice,  Juliet,  we  cannot  doubt 
that  he  would  have  been  enraptured  with 
the  spectacle.  As  Juliet  she  was  most  admired, 
and  it  is  with  this  character  that  her  name  is 
and  will  continue  to  be  associated.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  beautiful  than  her  per- 
sonation of  the  Veronese  maiden.  She  was 


50 

an  ehtrancingly  lovely  picture  as  she  danced 
with  stately  step  the  ancient  minuet;  or  stood 
leaning  over  the  moonlit  balcony  of  her 
father's  house  with  her  ardent  lover  below. 

At  Boston  among  her  audience  one  night  was 
the  venerable  poet  Longfellow,  who  wrote  her 
the  next  day  :  "I  thank  you  for  your  beauti- 
ful interpretation  of  this  enchanting  character. 
I  have  never  in  my  life  seen  intellectual  and 
poetical  feeling  more  exquisitely  combined." 
He  sent  her  some  verses  which  her  acting  had 
inspired,  which  he  asked  her  to  keep  unpub- 
lished. They  are  said  to  be  now  in  the  posses- 
sion of  her  mother. 

It  is  related  that  on  one  occasion  while  in 
Richmond,  Virginia,  she  went  to  the  capitol 
where  the  Legislature  was  in  session.  Some  of 
the  members  perceiving  her  in  the  ladies'  gal- 
lery, business  was  immediately  at  a  standstill. 
She  soon  had  half  the  members  about  "her,  and 
was  compelled  to  retire  from  their  presence  in 
order  that  business  might  proceed. 

She  was  undoubtedly  the  most  gifted  actress 
of  her  time,  and  perhaps  the  most  fascinating  of 
any  time.  Her  audiences  were  literally  in  love 
with  her:  there  was  a  charm  about  her  that  was 
irresistible. 

She  has  been  said  to  resemble  Nell  Gwynn, 
not  in  her  professional  characteristics,  but  in 


51 

personal  qualities.  Like  that  celebrated  ac- 
tress, she  was  generous  to  a  fault,  and,  like  her, 
she  suffered  through  the  exercise  of  this  noble 
trait  in  many  ways.  Both  these  women  were 
illegitimate,  and  both  were  the  most  popular 
English  actresses  of  their  day.  Here  the  like- 
ness is  at  an  end,  for  Neilson  was  superior  to 
all  others  in  the  magnetic  genius  she  possessed, 
and  was  so  truly  beautiful  that  to  have  seen 
her  is  to  have  a  memory  too  pleasing  ever  to  be 
forgotten.  Mr.  William  Winter,  of  the  New 
York  Tribune,  who,  as  well  as  Mr.  Joseph 
Knight,  of  the  London  Athenoeum,  was  one  of 
her  kindest  and  most  appreciative  critics,  said 
of  her  after  her  first  performance  of  Juliet  in 
this  country: 

"An  able  copy  of  a  lovely  ideal,  and  whether 
true  or  false,  a  charmingly  sweet  embodiment." 

"  Miss  Neilson's  Juliet,"  the  critic  continues, 
"is  a  young,  beautiful,  passionate,  Italian  girl, 
impetuous  in  all  things,  proud,  but  gentle,  fiery, 
but  tender,  capricious,  but  true — to  whom  mere 
existence  is  an  ardent  joy,  and  to  whom  first 
love  comes  like  a  revelation  from  heaven. 
Juliet  is  not  a  part  that  requires  a  great  actress, 
but  it  requires  a  very  good  one,  and  it  had  on 
this  occasion  one  of  the  best  that  have  come  to 
these  shores.  Miss  Neilson's  personelle  has  not 
been  exaggerated  by  her  portraits.  She  is 


slender  in  figure,  but  not  attenuated;  her  head 
is  small;  her  features  are  regular;  her  eyes  are 
dark  and  luminous;  her  hair  is  brown;  her 
mouth  is  full  and  sensitive;  her  voice  is  very 
sweet;  and  the  carriage  of  her  head  and  per- 
son denotes  a  bright  intelligence  and  pure  re- 
finement that  are  very  gratifying  to  the  sense 
of  entire  beauty  which  invites  moral,  mental 
and  physical  clearness  and  worth." 

During  her  last  engagement  here,  which 
ended  in  May,  1880,  she  was  supported  by  Mr. 
Edward  Compton,  an  artist  of  fine  ability,  who 
came  over  with  her  from  England.  He  was  a 
son  of  Henry  Compton,  a  famous  comedian  of 
the  old  English  school.  His  mother,  who  was 
an  actress  of  ability,  was  a  daughter  of  Henry 
Montague,  a  brilliant  light  comedian  in  the 
early  part  of  the  century.  It  was  not  known 
to  many,  but  a  few  of  her  closest  friends  in 
America  were  aware  that  Mr.  Compton  and 
Miss  Neilson  were  married,  and  that  her  re- 
tirement from  the  stage  was  to  be  followed,  so 
soon  as  she  returned  to  England,  by  an  an- 
nouncement of  the  marriage  and  a  quiet  home 
life  for  some  time  to  come.  Miss  Neilson's  long 
winter's  work  had  told  upon  her  strength;  she 
was  weary  and  tired  when  she  returned  to  New 
York  from  San  Francisco,  to  take  her  depart- 
ure for  Europe.  The  voyage  did  her  little  good, 


53 

yet  she  hoped  to  rest  on  the  Continent  a  little 
while  before  returning  to  England  to  reside 
permanently.  She  was  in  Paris  with  her  hus- 
band and  traveling  companion  on  the  14th  of 
August,  and  on  the  15th  took  a  ride  in  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne.  Feeling  faint  from  the  heat,  she 
asked  for  a  glass  of  iced  milk  and  drank  it 
with  a  grateful  sense  of  relief.  Shortly  after- 
ward she  was  seized  with  neuralgic  cramps  in 
the  stomach,  a  disease  from  which  she  had  long 
suffered  at  intervals.  Mr.  Compton  hastened 
with  her  to  the  Chalet  Restaurant  and  she  was 
removed  from  the  carriage  and  placed  on  a  sofa 
in  the  reception  room.  There  she  died  after 
twelve  hours  of  intense  agony,  There  was  no 
hope  from  the  first,  as  was  shown  by  the  post 
mortem  examination,  for  her  illness  was  a  com- 
plication of  troubles,  and  death  was  the  only 
possible  end. 

The  shocking  news  of  her  sudden  death  sad- 
dened the  people  of  two  countries,  and  particu- 
lars of  the  event  were  eagerly  sought  for  by 
loving  hearts  the  world  over.  Some  of  the  sad 
facts  were  never  given.  Mr.  Compton,  power- 
less to  resist  French  law,  saw  her  body  hast- 
ened away  to  the  public  morgue,  there  to  be 
subjected  to  a  post  mortem  examination,  and 
friendless  and  alone,  he  and  Mrs.  Goodall  waited 
until  the  body  was  finally  given  to  their  charge. 


54 

One  other  mourner  joined  them  at  the  morgue, 
a  white-haired,  elderly  man,  whose  grief  touched 
even  the  officials  who  saw  him  bend  over  the 
body  of  the  woman  he  had  loved  so  long  and 
steadfastly.  This  old  friend  was  Admiral  Glyn, 
to  whom  in  a  sudden  impulse  of  generosity, 
before  she  had  thought  of  marrying  again,  she 
willed  the  larger  portion  of  her  property.  Thus, 
though  she  died  so  suddenly  and  in  a  foreign 
land,  she  had  three  friends  with  her,  one  of 
whom  was  her  husband. 

They  carried  her  body  to  England,  and  one 
bright,  sunny  morning,  when  the  birds  were 
singing  in  every  tree  and  hedge-row,  they  laid 
it  away  at  Brompton,  in  the  presence  of  many 
friends  who  had  followed  it  to  its  resting-place. 
Over  the  grave  had  been  spread  a  covering  of 
royal  purple  velvet,  and  in  this  cloth  of  kings 
they  laid  the  flower-laden  oaken  coffin;  wreaths 
of  lilies  were  placed  upon  it  and  the  dead  Juliet 
was  enshrined  in  blossoms.  Then,  as  the 
casket  was  slowly  lowered  to  its  last  resting 
place,  those  who  stood  about  the  open  grave 
drew  nigh  with  their  offerings,  and  in  a  few 
moments  the  lovely  woman  was  buried,  not  in 
cold  earth,  but  in  a  bed  of  flowers  whose  per- 
fume filled  the  air. 

Over  her  grave  was  reared  the  tall  cross,  re- 
produced in  this  Souvenir,  with  its  fitting  and 


55 

touching  inscriptions.  And  there,  in  that  old 
London  cemetery,  sleeps  "Shakespeare's  wo- 
man," the  first  and  the  last  of  her  kind. 

Dead,  when  love  and  home  long  dreamed  of 
were  hers  ;  when  the  sweet  anticipations  of 
domestic  life  were  just  awakening  in  her  heart 
feelings  too  sacred  to  be  shared  with  the  world. 

What  a  fate  was  hers  !  What  a  triumph  and 
yet  what  a  mockery  was  her  life ! — tyer  own 
tragedy  the  saddest  of  any  she  had  ever  person- 
ated— her  death  crueler  than  any  she  had  ever 
depicted ! 

With  her  sweet  voice  hushed  forever,  one  at 
her  grave  might  well  have  exclaimed,  with 
Edna  Dean  Proctor, 

"  Lord  !  doth  tbou  see  how  dread  a  tiling  is  death, 
When  silence  such  as  this  is  all  it  leaves, 

To  watch  in  agony  the  parting  breath, 

Till  the  fond  eyes  are  closed,  the  dear  voice  still, 

And  know  that  not  the  wildest  prayer  can  thrill 
Thee  to  awake  her;  but  our  grief  must  fill 

Alike  the  rosy  morns,  the  rainy  eves." 

Said  her  kind  friend,  Mr.  Winter,  when  news 
of  her  loss  had  reached  us  here  :  "  Whatever 
may  have  been  the  vicissitudes,  trials,  mis- 
takes and  sorrows  of  her  past,  she  was  by 
nature  a  woman  of  pure,  domestic  tastes — affec- 
tionate, gentle,  confiding  and  true,  and  she 
would  have  made  that  home  very  happy  with 
the  husband  whom  she  had  chosen.  «  *  ,  . 


57 

She  was,  to  have  done  so  much,  a  very  young 
woman.  She  was,  in  this  sense,  a  prodigy— and 
whatever  were  her  faults  and  errors,  it  is  re- 
markable that  she  bore  so  well  the  always  per- 
ilous burdens  of  early  triumph,  and  the  in- 
cense of  a  world's  admiration.  She  had  the 
intuitions  of  genius,  and  also  its  quick  spirit 
and  wild  temperament.  She  was  largely  ruled 
by  her  imaginations  and  her  feelings,  and  had 
neither  the  prudence  of  selfishness  nor  the  craft 
of  experience.  Such  a  nature  might  easily  go 
to  shipwreck  and  ruin.  She  outrode  all  the 
storms  of  a  passionate,  wayward  youth,  and 
anchored  safe  at  last  in  the  haven  of  duty.  Her 
image  as  it  rises  in  memory  now,  is  not  that  of 
the  actress  who  stormed  the  citadel  of  all  hearts 
in  the  delirium  of  Juliet,  or  dazzled  with  the 
witchery  of  Rosalind's  glee  or  Viola's  tender 
grace,  but  it  is  of  the  grave,  sweet  woman, 
who  playing  softly  in  the  twilight,  sang  in  that 
rich,  tremulous,  touching  voice,  an  anthem  that 
paraphrases  the  words  of  Christ :  *  With  all 
your  sorrows  I  am  made  partaker,  and  am  ac- 
quainted with  all  your  griefs.' " 

And  then  he  wrote  these  last  words — words 
tenderly  cherished  by  all  who  loved  her  : 

"  And  O,  to  think  the  sun  can  shine, 

The  birds  can  sing,  the  flowers  can  bloom, 
And  she,  whose  soul  was  all  divine, 
Be  darkly  mouldering  in  the  tomb: 


58 

That  o'er  her  head  the  night-wind  sighs, 
And  the  sad  cypress  droops  and  mourns; 

That  night  has  veiled  her  glorious  eyes, 
And  silence  hushed  her  heavenly  tones. 

That  those  sweet  lips  no  more  can  smile, 

Nor  pity's  tender  shadows  chase, 
With  many  a  gentle,  child-like  wile, 

The  rippling  laughter  o'er  her  face: 

That  dust  is  on  the  burnished  gold 

That  floated  round  her  royal  head; 
That  her  great  heart  is  dead  and  cold — 

Her  form  of  fire  and  beauty  dead! 

Eoll  on,  gray  earth  and  shining  star, 
And  coldly  mock  our  dreams  of  bliss; 

There  is  no  glory  left  to  mar, 
Nor  any  grief  so  black  as  this!" 

Adelaide  Neilson  died  in  the  fullness  of  her 
prime,  and  for  her  doubtless  it  was  best.  For 
those  who  loved  her,  she  "  sleeps  too  early  and 
too  long."  We  hold  her  in  tender  memory  and 
have  hesitated  so  long  to  say  good-bye,  that  we 
will  omit  it  now,  and  in  some  brighter  clime 
bid  her  "  good  morning !" 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


SEP  2  8 


.         -  .--••,!       '  - 


MAR    6'67-3fM 


LOAN  DEPTr 


m  5  "i 
24  1979 


LD  21A-60m-7,'66 
(G4427slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


GENERAL  LIBRARY -U.C.BERKELEY 


M225156 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


